The Last Campsite
by rebeldivaluv
Summary: Djaq has nowhere to go.


**Title: **The Last Campsite**  
Fandom: **Robin Hood (2006)**  
Pairing: **Will/Djaq**  
Rating: **PG**  
Summary: **Djaq has nowhere to go.

For twilightsrain's fanwork-a-thon. _Prompt # 98: Will/Djaq – all alone_.

The ashes from last night's fire have long since grown cold, and the sun is hastening toward the horizon, but Djaq still sits alone on the forest floor.

There will be no more camps in Sherwood now, no laughing at Much, or teasing Allan, or watching Will from across the dancing firelight. These moments are gone forever, as dead as the embers she stares at so hopelessly.

It is foolish, she knows. Djaq has never been one to wallow, and certainly, today of all days, she should be celebrating. All of Nottinghamshire has no doubt turned up at Locksley Manor to welcome home their rightful master.

The King has returned. Robin is Earl of Huntington again, Much is Lord of Bonchurch, and the others are pardoned and free – free to return to their homes and their families.

Djaq has no home outside this corpse of a campsite, no family besides the English outlaws she lived among here. So, while the others pick up the threads of their old lives to weave them anew, she returns here, to mourn, and to regroup.

She feels no overwhelming joy that Richard is back. Unlike the others, she has no faith in his wish or ability to set things right. She has heard and seen too much of what he has done in the Holy Land.

The Holy Land. Palestine. Once, it was her land, her home. But she feels no longing to return there. She watched as it was gutted, raped, and pillaged; saw the people she loved be murdered, massacred. Her family was all gone now; if any of her old friends still lived, they must have long since given her up for dead.

Besides, she is not the girl they once knew. She is not much of a girl at all anymore. She can fight with sword and bow and fist; she can destroy bridges and buildings with her Greek fire; she knows what it is to kill a man – and the nightmares that come after it. Yet if she took these skills back to Jerusalem, offered to use them in defense of her people, she would be told to put on the veil and keep to the house.

No, she can never go back to that life.

But what is there for her here? She is a Saracen, marked for distrust and suspicion the moment she speaks. She does not like or trust the English king, no matter what Robin says, but she has no wish to fight against him. Being one of Robin Hood's men is an honor she would not tarnish.

The air turns chilly, as the weak rays of the sun fail to penetrate the deep wood. Djaq shivers and draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

She should go, she knows. Robin has given her a room at the Manor, servants to pamper her, every luxury he can well afford. He is kind, but she is an intrusion all the same. Robin and Marian are newlyweds; they deserve their space.

Djaq feels herself a burden, as she never has before. In Sherwood, she earned her own keep. She knows how to hunt and fish, has even learned a little about cooking. She could survive quite well on her own here.

All that remains of their final camp is the ash pit from their fire, scattered piles of leaves that mark where each of them had bedded down, and Djaq's own small bundle of belongings. 

Darkness approaches, and she makes herself active. Unwilling to return to Locksley Manor, she gathers kindling and fallen branches and lights a new fire. Slowly, the warmth seeps into her icy skin.

The silence surrounding her is eerie. True, the night sounds are as they have always been – close to her, the crackling fire – more distant, the chirping song of crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of an animal scurrying through the leaves. But so much noise is just not there – Robin's muttering and uneasy turning in his sleep, Little John's snores, the steadiness of Will's breath by her ear.

Until now, she hadn't realized how deeply familiar – how necessary – those sounds have become.

But it will never be like that again. Allan has already set off for Rochdale, to see if he still has family there. He claims he'll be back, but Djaq is not so sure. The rest have all stayed closer, but they have their own lives to live. It isn't to be thought their bonds will survive now it's not forced upon them.

Djaq is a woman and a Saracen. What kind of life can she make for herself here? Her medicine would be useful to the people, but they are so mired in superstitious dread as to mistake her science for witchcraft. They will not accept her help.

Women, she has found, have as few options here as in Palestine – in many ways, less. At least Djaq has the benefit of an education; here, not only the women, but the majority of the men as well, cannot read or even write their own names. They are a primitive people. Is she to put herself out as a servant to such as them?

_Never!_ her pride declares.

She lives in a world with no place for her. She is too intelligent, too independent, too capable. Too alone.

The rustle of footsteps is so quiet she barely distinguishes it from a mouse slipping along the ground. But her senses have been well-trained, and she is on her feet, knife in hand, in mere moments. Robin's men were not the only outlaws in Sherwood Forest.

"It's just me." Will's reassuring voice precedes his appearance in front of her.

She puts her knife away and resumes her seat, staring at the fire. She doesn't welcome him or invite him to join her; she doesn't need to. He sits beside her without a word, eyes also on the blaze. It is comforting to be with someone who knows her well enough to sit in silence. She doesn't feel so alone.

"How did you find me?" she asks finally.

He shrugs. "I went to the Manor for the feast, couldn't see you. Marian said you'd slipped out before the people started coming. Didn't take much to figure it out."

No, not for Will, it wouldn't. He would know immediately not only where she had gone, but why. She need not bother with uncomfortable confessions.

They lapse again into an easy silence. Will's eyes dart among the trees and the forsaken leaf beds. He chuckles low in his throat; she shivers at the sound.

"What is so funny?"

"Just thinking of the cricks in my neck from sleeping on the ground. I won't miss those."

She smiles. "Or the mosquito bites."

"That time we set up camp right on a wasps' nest."

"The snow in my boots."

"Your cooking."

She pokes him in the ribs, but it is as good-natured and gentle as his teasing, and he laughs again.

"What will you miss?" she asks, suddenly curious. Would he miss anything at all?

Will's laughter dies away, and he is solemn again as he contemplates the question. "Lots of things. The – the excitement of it, I suppose. Feeling like I was doing something important, something that mattered, not just to me, but to my family, to all of Locksley. And I'll miss the times all of us sat around like this, talking, eating, being. Mostly, I'll miss Allan, I think."

So Will thinks him gone for good as well. No one is as likely to know as Will. It strikes a pang through Djaq's heart, loss, pity, and – more surprisingly – jealousy. Would Will not miss her as much?

Before she can form a response, Will stands and brushes off his breeches. "Coming home?"

She stares up at him, that cold, lonely feeling back full-force, along with a wave of bitterness. She thought he understood. "And where is _home_ exactly? It is not at Locksley Manor."

"No, it's not." His voice, his eyes all speak the same promise, but the hand that reaches down to help her up asks a question. It lingers between them, open, ready to receive her, if she will have it.

Have him.

Her breath catches. Of all the paths closed to her, this is the one she has never considered. It had been shut out of her life long ago, and to find it here, now, is unexpected, bewildering.

He offers her protection, safety. More than that, he offers her love, home, belonging.

She reaches out and grasps his hand tightly. As he leads her from the forest, she doesn't look back.

_**fin**_

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